Mixing metaphors this morning

It was not yet seven, and Ivan took a running leap and landed on my bed where I was writing.

“Can we play Star Wars?” he asked. I nodded. “You are the queen and I am the guard,” he said, establishing himself against the wall, poised to strike with his light saber made of stick and orange duct tape at whomever entered the room.

“Go on,” he said. “Write.”

I picked up the pen to begin.

“Pretend you are the queen and your room is a gym,” he said, and turned his light saber parallel to the floor, lifting and lowering it like a barbell. “Tell me to do some squats.”